Fandom Journals: Tony Stark
by you-cannot-define-me
Summary: Tony Stark begins keeping an audio diary. These are the recordings. One of a series (in progress) of characters from various fandoms and universes.
1. Part One

**Fandom Journals: Tony Stark, Part One**

•••••

[A chair squeaks. There's a cough that echoes in the room, as someone prepares to speak.]

So.

Uh, this is day one, I guess, of the audio diary of Tony Stark. No, scratch that. Of me. Gotta keep it personal.

...This is harder than I thought it would be.

[A long pause.]

What am I supposed to talk about?...

Uh, well, let me explain why I started this thing. It's an experiment, really. My theory is, if I talk about my problems--all of the multitude of them--then, maybe, I'll be able to cope with them a little better.

Having anxiety attacks inside my suit is not my preferred MO.

But, the issue was, I can't just talk to people. They don't care. And anyways, all people do when you tell them things is take what you say and store it--turn it into weapons. It's all just ammo.

So, I, uh, worked around the problem. I mean, it's kind of stupid, just recording myself talk. I'll probably never even listen to these recordings, and God forbid anybody else does. It's just...

[Silence.]

It's...good to talk, you know?

[A pause.]

Ah, who am I kidding. This is pointless. FRIDAY, stop recording.

•••••

[Chair wheels are rolling across the floor. They gradually grow still.]

Well, I'm back. Day two. Of my...uh, journal.

Sorry about last time. I don't like getting too worked up about things.

...I just apologized to a recording of myself. Ha! I've reached a new low. A quite impressive achievement, really. That's me, Tony Stark, always finding new ways to screw things up. Maybe that should be my slogan. I'll adopt it as a mantra: "There are always more ways to fail!"

It kind of sucks, you know. I mean, by normal standards, I'm super successful! Famous, rich, head of a good company, "thriving" sex life--but that's another story. I should be happy.

The thing is, I'm not.

What's wrong with me? People would kill, literally, to be in my position, and yet for some reason I'm not satisfied.

I mean, I don't want more money. God no, I have enough of that. I've got enough money to last me the rest of my life. Which is probably not that long, which makes things easier, but that's beside the point.

What I'm trying to say is, I have it all, and it's not enough. What am I missing? What do I still need?

[A long pause.]

I don't know. This is getting me nowhere. I just go in circles, endlessly repeating the same mistakes--

[The voice chokes off. Silence.]

[The chair wheels start rolling again.]

FRIDAY, stop recording.

•••••

[A heavy sigh.]

Why do I bother? Obviously I've got to take some comfort from this whole thing. For some reason.

Ah, right--day three. My very own audio records of my steady decline.

Well, uh, I don't have any existential questions to battle today. Yet. So, I may as well just talk about my day.

Which, big surprise, was beyond awful. As usual. I mean, did I really expect anything else at this point?

See, that's the thing. Some people can take crappy day after crappy day, and still wake up in the morning with their idiotic all-American smile, and look in the mirror and say, "Oh golly gee, I'm gonna take on today and I'm gonna win!" And they put on their ugly star-spangled costume and go act like everything's fine.

Obviously not thinking of anyone in particular.

And I just don't get it! I mean, I can fake that, to a certain extent, and the news-people will never know. But to live like that? Every single day?

People can genuinely _believe_ that crap?

That, I don't understand.

And I don't particularly care to; having peace of mind would be nice, but if I have to turn into someone like him...

No thanks.

I'll find my own way out of this hole--I dug it for myself. It's only fitting to get out of it on my own terms.

[A pause.]

That's what this is, isn't it?

My terms.

Huh.

...FRIDAY, stop recording.


	2. Part Two

Fandom Journals: Tony Stark, Part Two

•••••

[Fingers are drumming on a table.]

Alright, today I'm gonna get right down to business. Day four, all that jazz, moving on.

People are so confusing! I never know how exactly to interact with them. News-people are just waiting for me to slip up and say something dumb, and I can never put my finger on what other people expect from me.

I mean, don't get me wrong. I know I have a reputation. How could I not? I have a habit of being bitingly sarcastic. Among other things. None of which are generally appreciated by the people I know.

But people always say, "Oh, you should just be yourself!" The thing is, "myself" isn't what people want. It can't be. The media wants the playboy millionaire, so I give it to them. But my...uh...team members, what do they want? What does Pepper want?

See, I don't know. What I've found is, if I care about someone, I'll never understand them. It's infuriating, really, because all I want to do is...

[A sudden silence.]

Ahem. Um. Sorry...

I, uh...

God, this is hard...!

[Another silence, followed by a sharp inhale.]

...All I want to do is make them happy.

But I don't know how to, and what I end up doing is ruining things. I say the wrong thing, I'm sarcastic a little too much, my jibe gets taken a little too personally, and bam! It's ruined.

Like everything else I have anything to do with. Toast.

[A whirring, and several beeps. Then a springing sound.]

Ow!

What--Dumm-E, I'm gonna dismantle you and use your parts as scrap metal! Stupid bot, I didn't mean actual toast--and you aimed at my head on purpose! Get over here!

[Footsteps. The voice echoes from across the room.]

Oh, right--FRIDAY, stop recording.

•••••

So, our last session got interrupted a bit. Don't worry, I moved him. He shouldn't be any bother now.

It's funny: I didn't think I'd really keep up with this whole thing, but this is what? Five days in a row? Actually, I know it is. Now I'm just trying to be conversational.

With myself.

But I've been talking to Rhodey, too. Out of all the people I know, he puts up with me the most. Maybe he's just accepted that I'm always gonna be around to bother him.

He does a good job of hiding his annoyance, though. If I didn't know better, I'd say he actually enjoyed my company.

And I tell him things, every once in a while. I mean, I gave him an Iron Man suit--if I can trust him with a physical weapon that powerful, a few emotional ones can't be too dangerous.

[A pause.]

Actually, that's a lie. They're more dangerous. Because the suit can hurt me, but I've got a suit of my own. And if worst comes to worst and I die, big deal.

But emotional weapons, they leave scars that never heal. Just always open wounds, sitting there killing you slowly. I'd rather just die and get it over with. No sense in dragging it out--and that's from experience.

But I have a feeling that even if that shrapnel had killed me eventually, it'd still be less painful than getting stabbed in the heart by Rhodey. I...that would just destroy me.

So why'd I give him any ammunition? I guess it's because I trust him. He hasn't tried to kill me yet.

Plus, it's part of my whole "mental health" regimen. I really only gave him something small--some kind of probably incoherent gripe about how guilty I feel about everything--but while it didn't feel good, it was necessary. I can't only talk to myself.

Can I?

Maybe I can. But should I? That, I've decided, is a no. So I'm gradually trying to prove that I do, in fact, have a heart. An injured one, yeah. But a heart.

It's progress, ok? At least give me credit for trying.

That's it for today, I think. FRIDAY, if you could stop recording.


End file.
